


New York Torch Song

by PersonyPepper



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Boxer Jaskier | Dandelion, Caring Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Crime Boss Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Established Relationship, Florist Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Loves Jaskier | Dandelion, Jaskier | Dandelion Being a Feral Bastard, Jaskier | Dandelion Loves Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Kidnapping, M/M, Mafia AU, Marijuana, Moral Dilemmas, Organized Crime, Recreational Drug Use, Teacher Jaskier | Dandelion, because I said so
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-24
Updated: 2020-09-19
Packaged: 2021-03-07 00:48:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,714
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26088211
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PersonyPepper/pseuds/PersonyPepper
Summary: “Tell me about Geralt of Rivia, The Butcher of Blaviken, you fucking–” Jaskier is mid-thought about how badly confused Red T-shirt must be if he thinks Geralt, flower-shop owning, sweet-boyfriend, Geralt is some crime boss fucker when he hears the gunshot. He flinches, ears ringing as Red T-shirt’s body hits the floor.Honestly, Jaskier’s quite impressed at the aim, letting out a low whistle as he watches the dead man bleed, bullet between his eyes.Someone chuckles from behind him, snapping Jaskier out of his amusement and making him flat out afraid when the cool of a knife blade brushes against his hands. He throws his head back, spurred on by decades of boxing as he enjoys the satisfying crunch of the guy’s nose behind him.Or, To Jaskier, his boyfriend's a nerd who own a flower shop. To the man who's kidnapped Jaskier, Geralt's a fucking crime boss ?? Jaskier's just as confused.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 53
Kudos: 243





	1. Chapter 1

Jaskier groans around the cloth gag in his mouth as he wakes– head pounding. 

“Wha–?” It comes out more as a muffle than much else, not to mention that the gag, very unfortunately, tastes like motor oil and sweat. Jaskier and very diligently chooses not to think about it any further. "Finally awake?“ He blinks, his vision hazy as he looks up at the man in front of him who dons a hideous red T-shirt.

"Good. Tell me about the Butcher.” Jaskier blinks up at him some more, annoyed that he’s been kidnapped right before his gig rather than being rightfully frightened of his situation. But hey, he thinks, biting down on the gag in his mouth, at least the guy’s stupid.

“Hurry up, Songbird,” Red T-shirt says (a good of a name as any), “Or do you only song about him when he fucks his sad little dick into your pussy?”

Jaskier raises a single eyebrow of unamusement, expression dry as he mutters _fuckin’ dumbass_ around his gag, fully aware that his kidnapper can’t understand him.

Red T-shirt tugs down the cloth (Jaskier has half a mind to spit in his face to get the taste out but ultimately practices some self restraint for the first time in his life) and stares at him, beady eyes staring straight into Jaskier’s very soul. “Well? The Butcher?”

Jaskier sighs, greatly inconvenienced.

“Hank is a lovely man who works at Whole Foods but I don’t know him that well, so if you’ll just–” He’s cut off by a gun shoving between his lips, muzzle uncomfortably large in the back of his mouth. 

“We know you’re The Butcher’s whore! You’ve to know something about him. Talk!” Jaskier resists the urge to roll his eyes and to suck the gun off just to annoy Red T-shirt more.

“Hank’s,” it’s more of a _mmph_ before the guns pulled out of his mouth, and Jaskier works his jaw before continuing on. “Hank is a very straight man with a lovely wife and–” he grunts as the butt of the gun slams down against his temple before Red T-shirt presses the muzzle to the no-doubt bruising skin.

The safety clicks off and only then does Jaskier’s annoyance fade, the situation finally settling in. Red T-shirt snarls in his ear, spittle landing in a spray over the side of Jaskier’s face.

“Tell me about Geralt of Rivia, The Butcher of Blaviken, you fucking–” Jaskier is mid-thought about how badly confused Red T-shirt must be if he thinks Geralt, flower-shop owning, sweet-boyfriend, Geralt is some crime boss fucker when he hears the gunshot. He flinches and ducks his head, ears ringing as Red T-shirt’s body hits the floor.

Honestly, Jaskier’s quite impressed at the aim, letting out a low whistle as he watches the dead man bleed, bullet between his eyes.

Someone chuckles from behind him, snapping Jaskier out of his amusement and making him flat out afraid when the cool of a knife blade brushes against his hands. He throws his head back, spurred on by decades of boxing as he enjoys the satisfying crunch of the guy’s nose behind him.

“Fuck, Songbird,” and Jaskier preens, kinda out of it as he finds comfort in the voice. _That's_ how the nickname should be said, in that deep, grumbly–

“Geralt?”

His lover hums, “Hold still, don’t wanna cut you, Jas.”

Jaskier grins as he finally finds his feet, throwing his arms around his boyfriend’s neck and pressing a deep kiss to his lips. A broad hand cups his waist, slipping down to squeeze his ass before Geralt steps away, looking down at him with such soft eyes. “You’re okay.”

“Fuck yeah, I am, Mister Red T-shirt’s really fucking incompetent,” he glances down at the man’s corpse, smile falling at the sight of the bullet sound.

His chest grows cold with realization, eyes falling to where Geralt holds a gun in his hand, matte black metal glinting in the dull light.

“Geralt?” Jaskier’s voice is unsure as he takes a hesitant step back, staring at his boyfriend– his hair’s in a messy bun, tendrils framing his face and he looks beautiful, as he usually does. Only, his hands are bloody, and the fucking gun–

Amber eyes watch him as Jaskier finds understanding and confusion all at once. His lover, florist, and Geralt of Rivia, Butcher, cannot be the same people.

And yet, here they are.

"We should get going, there’ll be more of them soon. ” Jaskier follows after him numbly, letting a palm on his hip guide him to the door.

It’s fucking bloodshed. Jaskier’s mouth drops, the sight of tens of bodies littered throughout the hallway, all taken down by–

“It’s probably best if you don’t look. Nightmares.” And fuck Geralt, fuck fucking Geralt for being a fucking lie, for being something soft when he’s killed and killed and _killed_ and fuck Jaskier for wanting to hide into his arms.

“I’m good, thanks,” Jaskier mutters, but he stares at the ground in front of him nonetheless, feeling Geralt’s hand burn into his side.

Roach is parked outside, and funnily enough, Jaskier finally understands after all these years as to why Geralt only wears back.

He climbs onto her, sat behind Geralt and what the fuck’s going on? He’s riding Geralt’s motorcycle, arms around his waist like it’s any old day, as if he hasn’t seen the aftermath of Geralt’s abilities, been fucking kidnapped!

White hair flicks at his face as they fly down the road; he barely feels it, numb as he presses his face between Geralt’s shoulder blades– tears biting at his eyes from the comedown of shock and the hurt of betrayal.

“This is a safehouse,” Geralt days, slowing Roach to a stop in front of an inconspicuous little white-fenced house, not dissimilar to Jaskier's own though it's on the other side of town.

It’s easy enough to tell that no one lives in it once he’s inside– not that Jaskier particularly cares as he sinks into a sofa, hands gripped into fists to keep from shaking.

“Want something to drink?” Geralt asks, the same time Jaskier mutters _who are you?_

Geralt looks down at him from the kitchen a couple feet away, shoes coated with drying blood. “I’m… Geralt. I’m– your boyfriend?” Jaskier curls in on himself further. Fuck, he’s dating a fucking murderer, of fucking course he is, only he could end up in such shit.

“Dandelion, breathe, baby,” Geralt mutters squatting in front of Jaskier and reaches out for him. Jaskier squeezes his eyes shut, the image of all those bodies, of Red T-shirt’s glassy eyes– he doesn’t realize he’s punched him till Geralt winces, palm going from resting on Jaskier’s knee to cupping his jaw.

“Fuck, should’ve had you join the Business, you throw a good punch, Jas.” _Of course I fucking do,_ Jaskier wants to say, they’ve sparred a million times over and Geralt knows he’s a good fighter– meaning he’s just trying to lighten the mood and doing a shitty job at it.

“Ger– Mh,” he can’t even say his name, can’t look at him, afraid he’ll see the killer rather than his boyfriend, “I think I should go. I think we’re done here.” Jaskier can’t stand watching the heartbreak on Geralt’s face as he stands, only to be stopped by a hand around his wrist.

“Don’t go,” Geralt’s voice is so fucking soft, “Please don’t leave. I promise I’ll fix this, just don’t leave me here alone.”

Jaskier dares a glance up at him, only to turn away, stomach rolling. “See you around, Geralt.”


	2. Chapter 2

Jaskier wakes up in cold sweat for the millionth time in a week, blinking away the image of his boyfriend proudly sitting atop a pile of bodies, drenched in blood with a red smile on his face— he shudders, pulling the duvet closer and hides under its warmth. 

It’s ten past two, too fucking ealy to be up if he wants to be able to function today. Jaskier flops back onto the bed, staring at the ceiling; his bedroom’s still littered with a mix of his and Geralt’s stuff, abandoned jogging shoes in the corner next to his sandals, black belt hanging off a hook on the door by Jaskier’s satchel— his stomach twists, a horrid taste taking residence in the back of his mouth.

Jaskier climbs out of bed; whatever, there’s no way he’s going to fall back asleep. He flicks on the kitchen light with a yawn, tightening his robe around his waist and resolutely does not look at the pictures of him and Geralt that decorate the fridge, at the  _ World’s Best Florist  _ cup as he pulls down his  _ World’s Best Teacher _ from the cupboard.

This is bullshit. Feels like a fucking fever dream. But there’s that shadow outside his door, like it’s been here every day the past week after he’d been fucking kidnapped. Jaskier pours himself a coffee before grabbing another mug and filling it the same. Poor fucker’s been standing out there all night. He unlocks the door, two steaming mugs of coffee in his hands and the guy nowhere to be found.

“Oh, come on,” Jaskier mutters to himself, “I know you’re out here,” he calls out. No reply. “I have coffee. Come on, you’re not doing anyone any favors by hiding in the bushes.” He sits on the porch step, setting a mug beside him as he sips at his own, watching the moon against the night sky and enjoying the cool breeze against his skin.

Eskel slips out of the shadows, and Jaskier’s helpless to roll his eyes as the man comes to take a seat beside him, taking a drink of coffee. “Lied to me as a family;  _ incredible _ .” Brown eyes regard him, scar twisting as Eskel makes a face at the coffee.

“Mh. Thanks for the shitty coffee, Jask.” 

“Thanks for fucking ruining my life, Eskel.” He’s being unfair, he knows, but betrayal strikes his heart and leaves a nasty gash as they sit by each other, watching the sky. Something crumples, the sound awfully familiar after spending hours spent at  _ White Wolf Florals _ .

“Geralt wanted me to give you thi—”

“Throw it away.” He doesn’t even bother to look at the flowers. It’s only another reminder of the lie Geralt had fed him, the lie Jaskier had taken to so willingly— he’s not ready to face him yet. They watch the sky lighten, and the moon’s vivid light fades till it’s blended into the background of the rising sun. Jaskier hears his phone blare from inside; six am, on the dot. “I’ve gotta go to work, Esk. Are you going to follow me?” Eskel gives him a brief nod, eyes apologetic. “S’pose someone has to make sure I don’t get kidnapped again.” Jaskier grabs their empty mugs, and slips back indoors.

He makes quick work on getting ready and ends up with a peacock blue turtleneck pulled over his head before he tugs on a jean jacket and shoves his glasses up his nose, not bothered enough to put in his contacts. 

Jaskier does not look at Geralt’s devastated face through the window of his flower shop as he bicycles past it, no he does not. He does pedal faster, though, and makes it to work well before he’s due, left to his thoughts as he sets up worksheets and goes over his lesson plan for the day. Hey, at least it’s a friday, right? 

  
  
  


He isn’t even sure why he’s so upset. He stares at the ceiling, bringing the newly lit joint to his lips and taking a drag. Maybe it’s because  _ Geralt lied to him about his entire life for what, nearly six years of dating?  _ Jaskier holds his breath, tasting spice in the back of his mouth as the warmth of the smoke spreads through his limbs in contrast to the chill breeze of the open window. Or maybe it’s because  _ Geralt literally killed a roomful of people? And smiled and kissed him right after like he _ hadn’t? Eskel looks on pitifully, sitting beside him where Jaskier’s splayed out over the bed.

“I don’t know how to deal with this,” Jaskier mutters, exhaling just as his chest grows tight. He holds the joint up for Eskel, wordlessly inviting him to join. 

“Your boyfriend’ll have me hunted if I get high instead of protecting you.” Eskel lays back on the bed with him nonetheless, and they both stare at the ceiling in contemplation.

“Wouldn’t want my mob boss maybe-boyfriend hunting down my close friend who’s also probably a criminal, now would I?” His words are bitter; he takes another drag before he can lose himself down a rabbithole of hurt. 

“He loves you, you know.” Jaskier hums, watching smoke float to the sky as he taps the ash onto the bedroom floor, not really giving a fuck at the moment. “He wanted to protect you. Told him he shouldn’t keep it from you; you’re your own person, should be able to make your own choices.” Eskel turns his head to look at him, a smirk tugging at his lips. “Was the sex good at least?” 

“Gods, you’re just as bad as Lambert,” but Jaskier grins anyways, remembering late nights of touching, gentle kisses, and simple cuddles. He sighs, blowing smoke out from the corner of his lip as he remembers broad, calloused palms trace down his hips, soft lips press against his. The giggly sex had always been the best— he finds himself chuckling, no room left to ache in his drug-addled mind save for a singular thought. 

“Is he a bad man, Eskel?” He drags his eyes from off the ceiling to peer into his friend’s eyes, searching for an answer.

“That’s for you to decide, Songbird.” Jaskier smokes till all he can think about are flowers tucked behind ears, and hours spent in a mess of limbs and soft smiles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mh, Jaskier's not doing so hot is he?
> 
> What do you think'll happen next? More emotional angst and Jaskier festering in his confusion? 
> 
> I'm trying to find a balance between Jaskier's strong morals and Geralt literally murdering people. I think they just need to talk; maybe Geralt's not such a bad guy after all, just that his job requires him to be.
> 
> Oh !! Maybe Jaskier gets welcomed to the nice mansion where Geralt ~works~ his main job (his side job's being a florist after all, Jaskier's found out). That'd be interesting to see, Jaskier seeing Geralt in his element, ordering people around all calm and collected before they slip into G's office to talk.
> 
> ("Uh, so.... murder." 
> 
> "Jaskier, I'm not— I don't /like/ hurting people.")
> 
> And then maybe J follows him to a job? Sees more of this side of his boyfriend vs the nice cute florist he'd fallen in love with?
> 
> Let me know what you guys wanna see, which ideas you like best (more of jaskier's angsting with eskel or, a confrontation and j gets to see g in his element)!!! 
> 
> (also, it'd be fun to see how j and g met huh? I might write a fic about their meeting and getting together, tell me if you would be interested in that.)
> 
> Leave me a comment! Let me know what you thought of the chapter! 🥺🥺


	3. Chapter 3

“Ha!! I win!” Jaskier smacks his card down flat on the table, and snags the bag of cheetos on the table, happily adding them to his collection of prizes including two candy bars, four condoms (Eskel’s contribution), seven bits of chocolate, and a bottle of nail polish. Eskel groans, head thrown back as he lets his cards fall out of his hands, ever the dramatic.

“You’re cheating! Fucking _how?”_ Eskel pouts at him, arms crossed over his chest. 

Jaskier stutters, settling on an offended little noise to convey just how displeased he is at the accusation. “Am _not_. I’m a very honest, humble man, thank you very much good Sir.” Eskel grumbles, and collects to be reshuffled for a new game. “What’re the stakes this time?” 

“I’m going to go bankrupt with you game, you sneaky little bard.” 

Jaskier winks at him, and grabs a fresh bottle of whipped cream from the fridge. “And nude! Loser has to let the other paint them with this! Finally, a chance to show off my true artistic ability—” 

A couple knocks sound at the door, smiles vanishing from both their faces.

“Jaskier—” 

“It’s alright, I’ve got this. Wouldn’t do to lt you open if it were one of my neighbors now would it?” Eskel huffs, and hovers behind as he unlocks the door anyways.

Geralt stands on the doormat, hair pulled back in a neat braid and an outrageously large bouquet in his hands. He’s grown a bit of a beard, fuzzy white covering his cheeks and down his chin, and there’s a thin scar cutting from above his eyebrow that disappears into the hair on his cheek. He looks… intense, to say the least. And no, Jaskier does not watch to kiss that white-dusted cheek, no he does not.

"Are you two playing cards? My Dandelion always cheats."

He smiles at him in an awkward quirk of his lips as he holds out the artfully designed bouquet as Eskel mutters a quiet _I knew it!_ Jaskier looks down at the flowers, and wonders how a murderer could create something so beautiful. 

“Geralt.” It’s been nearly a month since he’d gotten kidnapped, nearly a month since Jaskier’s seen his boyfriend. Eskel relaxes from where he stands behind Jaskier, tucking his gun back into its holster when he realizes that it’s only his brother.

“Jaskier.” Does he welcome him in? Jaskier doesn’t know where they stand, what he feels about him anymore, with the frankly huge lies and his profession itself. He licks his lip nervously, mouth dry as Geralt mimics the motion— Jaskier has a half a heart to jump onto him, to kiss him senseless and call him beautiful and tell him just how much he loves him and has missed him. And yet, the other half of his heart, the one that isn’t sure how to forgive and accept, is much more prominent in his chest. “Can we talk?” 

“He called you a _Butcher._ _The_ Butcher.” He’s been thinking about it for every second of every day; Eskel had shaken his head with a small smile and had told him that it wasn’t his story to tell. Still, now is not the time, and Jaskier curses his mouth for never fucking cooperating as he watches Geralt’s face fall; he’s always been too easy to read, no matter how he tries to hide it.

“Fuck,” Jaskier swears. _“Fuck.”_ Eskel’s hand comes to rest on his shoulder, gently pulling Jaskier away from the door to let Geralt in. Jaskier locks the door behind them; he knows how dangerous these men are, and he knows he doesn’t know how he feels about them, but he trusts them more than himself no matter. 

_“Finally worked up the guts, Geralt?”_ Eskel whispers as Jaskier puts the flowers in a vase of ever-present many. Geralt grunts in reply, and Jaskier walks back to the sofa and plops down opposite to them. 

The silence is stiff and awkward between them— Jaskier _hates_ it. The many memories he has spent lounging and laughing contrast horribly with them sitting here in the quiet, waiting for the other to make the first move. Geralt’s lip twitches. Jaskier’s hand drums against his thigh. Eskel watches them both for a mo before smiling at Jaskier, giving Geralt a look of warning, and slipping out the front door. 

Amber eyes look at him for a moment longer. “How are you?” And oh my _fucking Gods,_ they are _not_ doing this, they’re not going to pretend everything’s fine, because nothing fucking is and nothing fucking makes sense and Gods, Geralt, _why? Why would you do this?_

He doesn’t realize he’s said it all aloud till he’s on his feet, pacing with his arms flailing with each word. “Geralt, I—” he takes a deep breath, shoving his hands into his pockets as he looks down at his boyfriend. “I don’t know how to forgive you. I just… I don’t _know you.”_ He swallows, plops back down on the couch, “I don’t want to love a bad man, Geralt—” Jaskier’s not sure he’s ever heard himself like this, so fucking defeated, voice so small, “And I’m terrified that you are.” Jaskier runs a hand through his hair, leg bobbing as he tries to calm himself down. How the fuck had he gotten here? Emotional messes when he’d just been playing a game of cards with Eskel and trying to forget about the world? Geralt stands, and for a moment, Jaskier thinks he’s going to walk away.

Instead, he sits down beside Jaskier, a gentle hand rubbing down his back as he shifts closer. And Jaskier is helpless to the tears that stream down his face, burying his face into his boyfriend’s shoulder as he sobs. Weeks of tortuous uncertainty without any semblance of answer have him _crashing_ , weeks of not being with his lover, weeks of sleepless nights and empty facades through the days as he tries to comprehend fucking _anything_ that’s happening to him— Geralt cups the back of his head, holding him tight as Jaskier cries, and _cries, and cries._

The sun’s gone down by the time Jaskier calms enough to pull away, unsteady hands wiping away tears when all he wants to do is dive back into his boyfriend’s embrace. 

“I want to show you my world, Dandelion. Or the other half of it, at least.” It’s the most Geralt’s said since he got here. Jaskier sniffles, pulling his knees to his chest as he settles into the couch. “I’m… I’ve done bad things. Jaskier.” He pauses, eyes closing and Jaskier can see the pain that overwhelms him.

“People call me The Butcher because I killed people. A lot of people who were trying to do the right thing.” His expression is so wounded when he opens his eyes again, vulnerable for Jaskier to see. “You asked me why I hadn’t dated in a while before you, remember? It’s because—” Geralt’s voice chokes off, and he hums, trying to clear it as get himself together. _It’s okay_ , Jaskier wants to tell him, _it’s alright_. But it’s not, and Jaskier knows he has to hear this for them to even think about continuing their relationship. 

“Her name was Renfri.” Bland newscasters drone on in Jaskier’s memory, the tragedy of Renfri Shrike and her bid for revenge— Oh _Gods_ , had Geralt loved her? Had he ki— “I killed her. ” Jaskier swears under his breath as he surges forward, wrapping his arms around his boyfriend. “She—” Geralt chokes out, “I thought I was doing the right thing, Jaskier. She was killing people, I didn’t realize they were—” Jaskier holds him tighter, straddling his thighs as Geralt’s arms come to wrap around his waist. _“I didn’t know._ And I regret it so much, Jas.” He lets out a shaky breath, pulling away to look up at Jaskier. “I want to show you what I do. And you can see for yourself if I’m worth sticking to, just _please_ , baby, give me a chance.” 

Jaskier traces a thumb over his boyfriend’s cheek, cupping his face as they look, as they watch and wait. “Okay,” Jaskier mutters out. “Okay. We’ll figure this out, right?” Geralt buries his head into his neck and nods, arms tightening around Jaskier’s chest. Jaskier smoothes down his boyfriend’s hair, tilting his head so that it rests against shis. “Okay.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I cannot wait to write Geralt beating the fuck out of people and jaskier watching in horror, awe, and kinda wanting to join in; soon lol! 
> 
> Lemme know what you thought of this, babes! Also, in this house we love and stan eskel

**Author's Note:**

> [Come say hi on tumblr (@persony-pepper)!](https://persony-pepper.tumblr.com)


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